The Notebooks
of F. Scott Fitzgerald

(N) Nonsense and Stray Phrases


Kings Own Leopards.


He would be part of that great army driven by the dark storm.


“I’ve arranged that if anything should happen to you the remains will be kept in cold storage until I return.”


They were startled—that was inevitable; one couldn’t crash right in on people without tearing a little bit of diaphanous material.


The car waited tenderly for a minute.


All around her he could feel the vast Mortmain fortune melting down, seeping back into the matrix whence it had come.


Scott Fitzgerald climax runner for the Cal. “Courtesans” today passed his zenith. It was rushed after him to Peoria, Indiana, but by that time the soap on the nursery floor had become a shambles.


You’re not talking to a scared picker full of hookworm.


With your practically brilliant faculty for supposing that whatever isn’t in the foreground of your conscience has ceased to exist.


There’s nothing like a good dog—unless it’s a good cow or a good slice of underdone tripe.


At the pound they would call off the names of the dogs. Some had to be carried out barking, others walked nobly. They were taken in little carts to place of execution and then one by one they disappeared down the sausage machine.


Have you ever known a man who could bark? I have not. Or who liked to be led out on the end of a chain? I have not.


He had long forgotten whether Darrow called Scopes a monkey or Bryan called Darrow a scope or why Leopold-Loeb was ever tried in the first place.



Continentals starving for want of coal finally get some but can’t digest it because it’s hard coal. After the war—hollow victory—they lost Montreal and it’s wet. Profiteers in daguerreotypes. Everybody tired of Yankee Doodle. Men seasick crossing the Delaware. Rammed her petticoat down cannon, she was restrained. British walked away with hands over their eyes.


In an instant the combination of atoms that was Eva Coo was dissolved.


Ernest Hemingway, while careful to avoid cliches in his work, fairly revels in them in his private life, his favorite being Parbleu (“So what?”) French, and “Yes, We Have No Bananas.” Contrary to popular opinion he is not as tall as Thomas Wolfe, standing only six feet five in his health belt. He is naturally clumsy with his body, but shooting from a blind or from adequate cover, makes a fine figure of a man. We are happy to announce that his work will appear in future exclusively on United States postage stamps.


Thomas Wolfe or “Loup” (Anthony Adverse, Time and the River, N.Y. Telephone Directory 1935) is a newcomer to American Skulldugery. Born during a premium contest.


The Barnyard boys or Fund on the Soil


To dine at a “serious” restaurant.


He’s a roll call, that fellow


Proximity of her tan legs


The Blue Ribbon Boys



They’re much less expensive to run
It’s all right to run around in
It’ll do to wear around the house
It’ll keep us from being extravagant and inviting too many people to dinner
It’ll do when we have another
We’re saving that up so we’ll have something to look forward to
That’s good for the moths
It ( a carpet ) just gets worn out in this house
We want to wait until we get a really nice one


A weak heart, a sick heart, a broken heart or a chicken heart?


Shot through bald forehead—like where a picture and its nail has been removed from wall


The Thyroid Islands


This is to say the least Miss Rosemary Prince


rules that fight through all the weather like six wheeled cars crossing the Sahara.     ’


Listen little Elia, draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I’ll tell you a story.


Drifting towards some ignoble destiny they could not evade.


Then I was drunk for many years, and then I died.


it would have been a bigger picture if he could have had everyone gilded.


since his wife ran off one windy night and gave him back the custody of his leisure hours.


A whole bunch of men kidnapped to take blackheads out of their neck


He had hit her before and she him


Far gone, far called, far crowned


We gave the corpse twenty-four hours to leave town.


Esprit Frondeur


As twice as a double bumble bee


The aristocratic nose and the vulgar heart


Superfluous as a Gideon Bible in the Ritz


Given at his birth a spoonful of noxema just brought from Palestine.


One can do little more than deny the persistent rumors that hover about him; for instance that he was born in a mole cave near Schenectady, in a state of life-long coma—conversely that his father was a certain well-known international munitions manufacturer of pop­guns, a notorious blatherskite who earned a precarious living in the dives of Zion City or as others say a line coach at a famous correspondence school.


Simile about paper they paste on glass during building


The awful reverberating thunder of his absence


Father bought her a Christian


I have never wished there was a God to call on—I have often wished there was a God to thank.


“Sure—you did a sequence for Collins with a watch face and some little card-board silhouettes. It was very interesting.”


I have had more trouble getting people out from under stamps. I just love people under stamps. I remember when I first got under a stamp with a girl—


Better Hollywood’s bizaare variations on the normal, with George Collins on the phone ordering twelve girls for dinner, none over eighteen.


We’ll find you a pooch that’ll say Arp.”


That I was as ill behaved on one stick of furniture as you were on another.


Dive back Aphrodite, dive back and try for the fish undersea.


The three rich neurotics.


Ordered twisted fish and a cat’s handle bar.


The blue-green unalterable dream.


A day full of imaginary telegrams.


The Blue-eenum…carried 12 professors and a five ton truck sealed in a vaccuum bubble all over Western Europe in an hour.


Joke about am I supposed to eat it—or have I and left it in the incinerator.


Oh wild weekend, thou breath of autumn’s being.


Wit born in darkness of college movie houses.


The “Wyn” in Metro Goldwyn Mayer. Explain its presence.


I think I’d better go out and stay too long—don’t you?


At two-thirty this afternoon the Countess of Frejus will be fired out of this cannon.


Section ending. And that brings us to that Goddamn word “compare”.


Antibes before the merchants came.


Dr.’s take Oath of Hypocracy.


Kid’s Magazine: The Prospective Detective.


Seething Sam from Seething Springs.


I may as well spend this money now. Hell, I may never get it.


Drunk scooter-ing.


When the thing began to begin.



At this post holiday season the refrigerators of the nation are overstuffed with large masses of turkey, the sight of which is calculated to give an adult an attack of dizziness. It seems, therefore, an appropriate time to give the owners the benefit of my experience as an old gourmet, in using this surplus material. Some of the recipes have been in my family for generations. (This usually occurs when rigor mortis sets in.) They were collected over years, from old cook books, yellowed diaries of the Pilgrim Fathers, mail order catalogues, golfbags and trash cans. Not one but has been tried and proven—there are headstones all over America to testify to the fact.
Very well then: Here goes:
1. Turkey Cocktail
To one large turkey add one gallon of vermouth and a demijohn of angostura bitters. Shake.
2. Turkey at la Francais.
Take a large ripe turkey, prepare as for basting and stuff with old watches and chains and monkey meat. Proceed as with cottage-pudding.
3. Turkey and Water
Take one turkey and one pan of water. Heat the latter to the boiling point and then put in the refrigerator When it has jelled drown the turkey in it. Eat. In preparing this recipe it is best to have a few ham sandwiches around in case things go wrong.
4. Turkey Mongole
Take three butts of salami and a large turkey skeleton from which the feathers and natural stuffing have been removed. Lay them out on the table and call up some Mongole in the neighborhood to tell you how to proceed from there.
5. Turkey Mousee
Seed a large prone turkey, being careful to remove the bones, flesh, fins, gravy, etc. Blow up with a bicycle pump. Mount in becoming style and hang in the front hall.
6. Stolen Turkey
Walk quickly from the market and if accosted remark with a laugh that it had just flown into your arms and you hadn’t noticed it. Then drop the turkey with the white of one egg-well, anyhow, beat it.
7. Turkey a la Creme.
Prepare the creme a day in advance, or even a year in advance. Deluge the turkey with it and cook for six days over a blast furnace. Wrap in fly paper and serve.
8. Turkey Hash
This is the delight of all connoisseurs of the holiday beast, but few understand how really to prepare it. Like a lobster it must be plunged alive into boiling water, until it becomes bright red or purple or something, and then before the color fades, placed quickly in a washing machine and allowed to stew in its own gore as it is whirled around.
Only then is it ready for hash. To hash, take a large sharp tool like a nail-file or if none is handy, a bayonet will serve the purpose—and then get at it! Hash it well! Bind the remains with dental floss and serve.
And now we come to the true aristocrat of turkey dishes:
9. Feathered Turkey.
To prepare this a turkey is necessary and a one pounder cannon to compell anyone to eat it. Broil the feathers and stuff with sage brush, old clothes, almost anything you can dig up. Then sit down and simmer. The feathers are to be eaten like artichokes (and this is not to be confused with the old Roman custom of tickling the throat).
10. Turkey at la Maryland
Take a plump turkey to a barber’s and have him shaved, or if a female bird, given a facial and a water wave. Then before killing him stuff with with old newspapers and put him to roost. He can then be served hot or raw, usually with a thick gravy of mineral oil and rubbing alcohol. (Note: This recipe was given me by an old black mammy.)
11. Turkey Remnant
This is one of the most useful recipes for, though not, “chic”, it tells what to do with the turkey after the holiday, and extract the most value from it.
Take the remants, or if they have been consumed, take the various plates on which the turkey or its parts have rested and stew them for two hours in milk of magnesia. Stuff with moth-balls.
12. Turkey with Whiskey Sauce.
This recipe is for a party of four. Obtain a gallon of whiskey, and allow it to age for several hours. Then serve, allowing one quart for each guest.
The next day the turkey should be added, little by little, constantly stirring and basting.
13. For Weddings or Funerals. Obtain a gross of small white boxes such as are used for bride’s cake. Cut the turkey into small squares, roast, stuff, kill, boil, bake and allow to skewer. Now we are ready to begin. Fill each box with a quantity of soup stock and pile in a handy place. As the liquid elapses, the prepared turkey is added until the guests arrive. The boxes delicately tied with white ribbons are then placed in the handbags of the ladies, or in the men’s side pockets.
There I guess that’s enough turkey to talk. I hope I’ll never see or hear of another until—well, until next year.
Left Out—Stand live turkey in ice box until quite stiff ect.


Names for the Bowes House—Easy Payment
Down Payment
Empty Larders
Termite’s Rest
Little Casino
Old Panneling
Conway Tearle


In front of lazy group Animay-shun!


“Right away—high” sang the central in a mad cheer. He laughed.


I’ve got a cancer. What cancer
Tomato can, sir.


I’m Sick. How sick? Sick of one—half a dozen of the other


I’ve got a pane
Pane of glass in my eye.
Spectacles to you.


Smelt Pot—Small box of candy


A pen—appenditius


Sinus—of the declaration

Next: O: Observations.

Переводы: N: Нелепости и случайные фразы (разные переводчики).